Alphabet Challenge
by CatherineGrissom1
Summary: Challenge - to write 26 fics, each title starting with a letter in the alphabet ... CG
1. A Average

FF: Average [Alphabet Challenge - A]  
  
Author: Emily  
  
Rating: R  
  
Category: CG humour  
  
AN: The first instalment to my personal challenge. Brought to you by the letter 'A'. And the number 30.  
  
"Did you know that an average of 56% of Americans smoke?" Catherine said as she strode briskly into the layout room.   
  
"Meaning that, seeing as we only have these cigarette butts as evidence, without a speck of DNA left after the rain, by the way, we're looking at roughly 149 million suspects in the US alone. Right," sighed Gil.   
  
"Yay," Catherine crowed, sinking into the chair beside Gil. "Well, we're gonna have to wait for Sara and Nick to finish processing that truck, then, 'cause we have nothing to run with."  
  
"Yup."  
  
"I'm bored," Catherine whined.   
  
Gil peered at her over his glasses, smirking. "OK, here's one for you. Did you know that an average of 73% of men admit to buying some form of porn?"  
  
"Now where on earth did that come from? And where would you ever hear a statistic like that?"  
  
"Hey, you were bored," he retorted. "It's just something to think about."  
  
"Yeah, well two can play at that game, buster," Catherine grinned. "Did you know that only 35% of women admit to spending money on sex toys."  
  
"I'll bet you're one of them," Gil teased.  
  
"How is that any of your business?"  
  
"Touchy! OK, on that note, 67% of men admit to regular masturbation."  
  
"Is that all? I thought all men did that."  
  
"I thought we didn't generalise around here," Gil scolded lightly, leaning back in his rolling chair.   
  
"Well, it's better than women. I think the average is around 30% of women that admit to doing that," she said, rolling her chair closer to his.  
  
"Ah, but these are only the people who admit it. And where do you get these statistics, anyway?"  
  
"Erm, a very reliable source," Catherine replied. "Cosmo."  
  
"Ah."  
  
"Well, at least I can easily place you into that last category, though," she retorted childishly.  
  
"Yes, and tit for tat, my dear," Gil said, quirking an eyebrow.  
  
"Yeah, but I don't need to do it anymore though," she whispered, her fingers trailing down to the top of his pants. "So I guess we don't fit into those averages anymore."  
  
Gil drew in a shuddering breath as Catherine's lips inched closer to his. "You could never be average, Catherine. You will always be extraordinary to me."  
  
End 


	2. B Bugman and the Baleful Bumblebee

FF: Bugman and the Baleful Bumblebee [Alphabet Challenge - B]  
  
Author: Emily  
  
Rating: R  
  
Category: CG humour  
  
AN: The next instalment in my 26 fic challenge! (2 down, 24 to go ... runs off screaming into the night)  
  
Dedication: To Gomes, coz she needed the smut.  
  
"I still can't believe you're gardening," he says, mouth playfully agape.  
  
"Shut up," I retort, swiping a dirt-encrusted glove over my forehead. And then, of course, I remember the bit about the dirt on the glove. "Shit."  
  
"You have a little something right there," he says, outlining his entire forehead to show me. He smirks, and I toss a tulip bulb at him, which hits him square in the chest. I stick my tongue out.  
  
There's a sudden buzzing near my ear, and I freak out. "Bee," I yelp, jumping up from my spot in front of the garden. "Make it go away!" I shriek, running past Gil and ducking behind a tree.  
  
And I can't believe it. He's laughing at me. Not just chuckling, outright guffawing, his hand on his stomach as he doubles over. "Cath, that's a honey bee. It's not going to sting you."  
  
"How do you know?" I demand, then frown as I remember that little PhD he has in entomology.   
  
"Cath, honey bees don't sting. Well, all bees sting, but only if they're provoked. A honey bee is about the most placid bee you could find."  
  
"I don't care," I say stubbornly. "I hate bees."  
  
"Studies have shown that having a negative attitude towards any animal, be it a bee or a bear, can actually alter your image to them, and provoke them to attack," he recites, an annoying all-knowingness to his words.  
  
"I don't care," I mutter again. "That bee can kiss my ass."  
  
I can see him shake his head out of the corner of my eye, and suddenly I feel a prick in my lower back. Although it's more like a gargantuan, ten-foot hypodermic needle filled with hydrochloric acid has been injected into my rear end. No, it feels like a bullet. Oh my God.  
  
"Fucking hell!" I scream, jumping about four feet into the air. "I've been shot! Someone shot me!"  
  
He simply smiles benignly at me. I've been shot, God dammit, and he's just standing there grinning? I'm dying! Some friend!  
  
"Told you so," he states.  
  
"That wasn't a bee, it was a .45!"  
  
He rolls his eyes and kneels in front of me, his hands grasping my hips and turning me around. He pulls the top of my jean cutoffs down slightly, and traces the sting with his finger.  
  
"Well? Did you find the bullet? The ten-foot long needle? The Masai spear?" I whine.  
  
"I found the remains of that poor bee. May she rest in peace," he says.  
  
"It hurts!" I whimper childishly.  
  
"Shall I kiss it better?"  
  
"Nothing will ever ease this horrible pain, Gil. I'm on my deathbed here."  
  
"Hmm," he replies, and then I feel his lips on the spot. Oh my. As much as I hate to admit it, the sting is waning, replaced now with intense desire flooding me as his hands grip my waist. "Feel better?" he asks, standing.  
  
"No," I say, reaching out to wrap my hands around his shoulders. "Because you stopped. I think I need more healing. In the bedroom."  
  
"I think I can handle that. I am a doctor, you know."  
  
"A doctor of bugs," I scoff.  
  
"Hey, a PhD is a PhD, my dear."  
  
"Bite me, Bugman."  
  
"I intend to."  
  
"Oh, so we're playing rough?"  
  
"We're playing it however you want, Cath. I picked last time," he says, nuzzling my ear as I reach for his hand and pull him inside.  
  
"Yeah, that's true. I never figured you for a role player."  
  
"Admit it. You loved the whole Bad Cop routine."  
  
"Sad but true. Hey, I'm not complaining. Although at one point you reminded me of Jim, and that freaked the hell out of me."  
  
"Creepy."  
  
"Extremely," I reply as I pull his t-shirt over his head.  
  
"But you liked the handcuffs," he comments as his lips latch onto my neck.  
  
"Mmm, yeah. I liked it even more when you took them off and I could finally touch you."  
  
"That was the best part," he agrees, his fingers prising my button and fly apart. The shorts slip down my legs, and I step out of them and ... oh holy hell, his fingers are caressing me through my panties. I push into his hand, eager for more contact, and he pulls away, grinning mischievously.   
  
"Bastard," I swear.  
  
He smiles a simpering, yet disgustingly handsome smile and backs out of my reach, his hands making quick work of his own garments. His boxers are last, and I can't help but remark, "So bees turn you on that much, huh?"   
  
I really want to touch him. I know it's not exactly poetic, or even really decent, for that matter, but I think I need to announce that Gil Grissom has an extraordinary penis.   
  
And then, of course, there's that look in his eye. The one I've grown to know and love. The one that says 'I need you, now.' I really like that look. I make quick work of my shirt and panties and kneel beside him on the bed.  
  
"How's the sting?" he asks, gasping as I touch a finger to his erection.  
  
"The what? Oh, that. Fine. You have magic lips," I reply, my own lips brushing lightly over the head.  
  
"M-my lips? Nothing compared to ... mmm ... yours," he moans, his back arching as my tongue strokes the underside of his shaft.  
  
"Hmm," I say in response, causing his eyes to roll back in his head and his hand to tangle in my hair.   
  
He begins to hum in time with my mouth, and I feel him tense and wait for the explosion, but instead his hands are on my shoulders, pulling me off him.  
  
"Wha-?"   
  
"I want to be inside you when I ..." he trails off and blushes crimson.  
  
"Come? Orgasm? Blow? Explode?"  
  
He just shakes his head and pulls me onto his stomach. "You talk too much, you know that?"  
  
"Blame it on the magic lips," I sigh as I lower myself, painstakingly slowly, onto him.   
  
"God, Catherine," he groans. "I love you."  
  
"Are you just saying that to make me go faster? 'Cause that's not gonna work on me."  
  
He opens an eye and glares at me. "You know I mean it."  
  
"You know I'm kidding."  
  
He opens both eyes and focusses intently on me. Uh oh, I've seen that look before. I'm in for it now.  
  
"I love you, Catherine, but you're driving me insane. In more ways than one."  
  
With that, he flips us so that he's on top, hovering over me. Then he's inside me, and oh my fucking God, he feels amazing. I can't begin to describe it. It's just ... Gil. His mouth attacks mine as I wrap my legs high around his waist, our tongues moving in time with our rapidly accelerating frenzy.  
  
"Faster ... oh God, Gil, harder," I whimper, my fingernails raking over his back to grasp at his ass, pulling him deeper within me, deeper into oblivion.   
  
"So close ... Catherine," he pants, his face nestled in the hair above my neck. "Catherine, Catherine-Catherine-CatherineCatherineCatherine," he chants in my ear.   
  
That's it. I can't not come when he starts to do that. I explode around him, my body tensing and shuddering in his arms as pleasure jolts through my being. I feel him thrust once more, deep inside me, before he erupts as well, his warmth spurring on a second orgasm for me. I have no idea how he does that. But I can't get enough of it.  
  
He falls to my side, our breathing ragged yet in synch. Our hands entwine and I grin lazily at him.  
  
"Wow," he mutters distractedly, his finger caressing my swollen lips.  
  
"Yeah. Know what?"  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"Bees are my favourite animals."  
  
"Ah," he says, nodding sagely as he pulls me into his arms. "So can I get a bee farm for the back yard?"  
  
"Not on your life."  
  
End 


	3. C Could You ?

FF: Could you ...? [Alphabet Challenge - C]  
  
Author: Emily  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Category: CG angst  
  
"Could you invite me over for breakfast?   
  
Could you comfort me after a hard case?   
  
Could you ask me how I'm doing?   
  
Could you tell me how you're doing?   
  
Could you open those gates that have shut me out for so many years?   
  
Could I see what's behind those shuttered eyes?   
  
Could I hug you?   
  
Could you hug me back?   
  
Could you ever see how much I love you?   
  
Could you ever feel the same?  
  
Could you take the time to notice me?  
  
Could you take the time to notice us?  
  
Could you pretend to care?  
  
Could you care?  
  
Could I hand in the resignation?  
  
Could I forget you?  
  
Could you forget me?  
  
Could you come after me?  
  
Could you love me?  
  
Could I live without you?   
  
Could we go back to how we once were?"  
  
Could I stop the tears from falling? Could he break the silence, say something, say anything?   
  
And then I can feel a hand on my cheek, and I can feel the warmth of his body. I can smell his soap, I can peer deep into those eyes that have remained elusive for so long. I can feel his lips. I can feel his love.  
  
"Could we start again?" he whispers.   
  
End 


	4. D Dealing in Death

FF: Dealing in Death [Alphabet Challenge - D]  
  
Author: Emily  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Category: CG angst  
  
AN: Sorry for all the short-ish fics ... I've got big plans for the next few letters, I swear!   
  
Sometimes I think it would be nice to just up and leave. To be able to forget everything I've seen in this job.   
  
To never have to face another murder, another rape, another death. I'd love to be able to forget the pain I see every day.   
  
It would be really nice to see a decent side of the human race. To not have to see the anger or the sadness or the hate that seems to ooze from this job.   
  
But then, I remember her. My one relief. The one person I look forward to seeing every day. The one tower of strength that keeps me going. The way she comes to check on me after a hard case, the way her golden hair hangs around her face like a halo, the way she says my name ... these are the things that make me live again. That make me capable of love in a world that seems so cold.  
  
Sometimes I think it would be nice to just up and leave. To be able to forget everything I've seen in this job.   
  
But then I would have to forget her.   
  
END 


	5. E Evidence

FF: Evidence 1/1 [Alphabet Challenge - E]  
  
Author: Emily  
  
Rating: R  
  
Category: CG humour  
  
Catherine stopped as her flashlight came across a long hair. "Got a blonde hair, pretty long, a little wavy ..."  
  
"More like strawberry-blonde," said Gil from somewhere behind her. "Does it look natural or dyed?"  
  
"Erm, natural ..." Catherine replied, frowning slightly.  
  
"Right ..."  
  
Catherine rolled her eyes. "OK, I'm gonna fingerprint this headboard." She pulled out some black powder and a soft brush and began to work from left to right. After several minutes she sat back on her heels, blushing slightly. "We've got what looks like smaller, female hand prints ..." she cleared her throat and continued, "... grasping these two rungs of the headboard."  
  
"Ah, a rather involved woman?"  
  
Catherine coughed. "Uh, yeah. I'm going to ALS the sheets."  
  
"Go right ahead."  
  
She grabbed the blue light and some tinted glasses, sweeping the fluorescent light over the sheets. She smirked, and heard Gil chuckle behind her.   
  
"Hmm ... we have multiple donations. This bed is lighting up like the Strip on New Years."  
  
"So we've got a red-blonde hair, some very ... distinct hand prints, and a lot of semen. What does that tell us?" said Gil.  
  
Catherine turned and grinned at him as she placed the glasses on top of her head. "That you and I need to clean the sheets more often."  
  
END 


	6. F Friends in High Places

Drabble: Friends in High Places [Alphabet Challenge - F]  
  
Author: Emily  
  
Rating: NC17  
  
Category: CG humour  
  
Spoilers: Unfriendly Skies  
  
AN: Just a short drabble, coz I was at a loss for the letter 'F,' but hold onto your pants for the letter 'G'!  
  
"You didn't tell her, did you?"  
  
He shot her a look. "Of course not. I'm not suicidal, Cath."  
  
She rolled her eyes in response as she straddled him. Her tongue rested between her teeth, a low moan escaping her lips as she lowered herself onto his length.   
  
"In any case ... if I had told her, you might call off our trip to that conference in LA."  
  
"What makes you-" she paused to whimper as he thrust up into her, "-think you're going to be getting any on the plane?"  
  
"You know from experience, Cath," Gil replied as he found her lips. "I've got friends in high places."  
  
End 


	7. G Grissom Jr

FF: Grissom Jr. [Alphabet Challenge - G]  
  
Author: Emily  
  
Rating: R  
  
Category: CG smutacular!  
  
Dedicated to Gomes for the ideas, and Anne for the motivation, and to Caroline for keeping count (what's the tally now? Ten trillion and three??), and to all of them for waiting ... well, semi-patiently, at least, for some smut. Cheers!  
  
"Find anything?" he asked as he leaned over her shoulder to watch her progress.  
  
"Yeah, a whole boatload of bupkis," she replied humourlessly. She was mad and touchy and frustrated.   
  
Actually, frustrated just about summed up her mood that evening. Frustrated with the city for making her rush the crime scene, frustrated with the lack of evidence, frustrated with the cadets, most of whom couldn't find a murder weapon if it smacked them in the face.  
  
Of course, these were merely annoyances compared to Gil. She knew he wasn't doing it on purpose, but it seemed as though every other minute, he was brushing up against her, accidentally touching her or hovering around her, and it was driving her insane.   
  
With desire.  
  
How long had she known Gil? In days, months or years ... it really didn't matter. The fact was, she had always been attracted to him. And in the past little while, they had been flirting non-stop, little glances and amusing banter, minute touches that sent shivers down her spine. And now, here he was, leaning over her shoulder as she dusted the interior of the car for prints, and she could smell his soap. She had to physically fight herself to keep her body from pushing back against him.   
  
And when he reached around her to grab his kit, his hand brushing ever so slightly against the small of her back, she almost betrayed herself by letting out a groan. She managed to swallow it just in time, taking a deep breath as she heard Gil's footsteps retreat.  
  
It was going to be a long night.  
  
Catherine bent over the microscope, peering at the fibres Warrick had found on the victim. She looked up long enough to scribble a brief note about the cross-section, but her gaze fell instead on a shadow in the doorway.  
  
Holy hell, she thought. He's wearing a leather jacket.  
  
"Getting anywhere?"  
  
Getting hornier by the minute, said the voice inside her head.  
  
"Warrick found some red fibres on the victim's jacket, which have a triangular cross-section."  
  
"Car upholstery?"  
  
"That's what I'm thinking."  
  
"Ah."  
  
He walked around the table and stood beside her, his arm brushing hers as he leaned over the microscope. Catherine stepped back, and was suddenly treated to one of the most arousing views she'd ever witnessed: Gil's ass in tight jeans.  
  
This time she couldn't help it. A low moan escaped her lips, and Gil peered over his shoulder at her.  
  
"You OK?"  
  
Hell no. You're making me so hot ...  
  
"Uh, yeah. Just ... stretching."  
  
He nodded and smiled slightly before turning back to the microscope. "Did you get a look at this tear in the fabric?" he asked.  
  
"Tear? No. Let me see," she said, summoning the courage to approach him again. She looked into the microscope at the frayed end of the fabric.   
  
And that was when things started to unravel.  
  
A touch on her thigh. A breath on her neck. The smell of his leather jacket, mixed with the smell that could only be described as Gil.   
  
Houston, we have a problem.  
  
The gasp rose in her throat, and pushed it's way past her lips. Her head jerked up as his hand brushed her thigh again, and a panicked look crossed her face. Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no no no ...   
  
Without a backward glance, she sped from the room, walking quickly down the hallway to her office. Once she was safe inside the Gil-less haven, she sighed and slumped at her desk.  
  
"That would have been nice," she said to herself. "Having an orgasm in the middle of the trace lab because your best friend is innocently touching you." She took a deep, steady breath, but realised that she wasn't going anywhere. She was so revved up with his innocent touches that she was about ready to explode.   
  
She was at the point where she might have had to deal with her problems then and there, but a knock on her door startled her enough to keep her from reaching under her skirt.  
  
"Yeah?" she called.  
  
"Catherine?"  
  
Fuck.  
  
"What do you want, Gil?"  
  
"You, uh, dropped something when you careened from the room."  
  
"What is it?"   
  
"Some sort of shopping list ... carrots, peas, Kleenex, root beer, and ..." he paused.  
  
Something suddenly clicked in Catherine's head, and she leapt up from her seat, sprinted to the door and pulled it forcefully open.   
  
She found herself face to face with Gil, an odd look crossing his features as he glanced from the list to Catherine, and then back to the list.  
  
"... batteries for Grissom Jr.?"  
  
"Uh ..." Catherine snatched the list from Gil's fingers as she searched desperately for an explanation.  
  
"What or who is Grissom Jr.?"  
  
"It's ... erm ... t-the ... the thing. The ... it's ..."  
  
"Cath ..." he whined.  
  
Catherine blushed crimson, her eyes flying wildly to his face as he said her name. Oh, God, she thought, he's pouting.   
  
"No, it's nothing. Just ... an inside joke." She winced. "Just ... never mind. I have to ... shift's over, I have to go home."  
  
She turned swiftly on her heel and ran right into the doorframe, whacking her forehead on the hard metal. She heard herself gasp and she stumbled back into her office.  
  
"Catherine, are you OK?"  
  
"F-fine ... I ... who ..."  
  
"Let me look at that. Maybe you shouldn't be driving."  
  
"No, s'OK. Really. I'm ..." she shook her head slightly, trying to clear it. "I'm fine. I just need to go home."  
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
"Positive."  
  
Catherine grabbed her purse, shoved her list into her coat pocket and brushed past Gil, cursing silently as she went.  
  
Gil arched an eyebrow, watching Catherine as she practically raced down the hallway. Worried, he started after her. She'd hit her head pretty hard, and he wasn't sure he wanted her to be driving home. He frowned when he saw her take a sudden turn into the bathroom as she rummaged through her bag. He was about to follow her, when Sara called his name from the DNA lab.  
  
"Grissom! Hey, could you come here for a second?"  
  
He sighed in exasperation. "What do you need?"  
  
"Can you take a look at this sample? There's seven alleles in common with this other sample, but the suspect said he didn't have any living relatives ..."  
  
"Sara," he said slowly. "What does this have to do with me?"  
  
"I just ..." she faltered. "I was wondering if ..."  
  
"You can figure it out, Sara," he said curtly. She stuttered slightly, turning red and muttering childishly. "I'm off my shift," he stated, and turned back down the hallway.  
  
Catherine had been in the bathroom for nearly five minutes when Gil finally decided to go in.   
  
He was puzzled by the faint buzzing that filled the room. But the next thing he heard seemed to confirm his worst suspicions. Catherine was groaning from the end cubicle, and he was sure she was sick. Fears of concussions and loss of consciousness flooded his brain, and he called her name hesitantly.  
  
"Catherine?"   
  
"Oh, God, Gil ..." came the reply.  
  
"Catherine? Are you alright? Catherine?"  
  
He panicked. She groaned louder, and he rushed towards the door. "Nnnn, Gil ..." she moaned.  
  
"I'm coming, Cath!"  
  
He fiddled with the lock from the outside, growling with impatience as he finally managed to twist it open.   
  
And he found himself face to face with the most unlikely vision he'd ever seen.  
  
Catherine rooted around in her purse until she found it; Grissom Jr. Aptly named 'The Big One,' she'd brought the purple vibrator along with her in order to take it in to have the batteries replaced before shift. Her head ached, but it was nothing compared to the desperate ache of need she felt for Gil.   
  
Within seconds, her skirt was hiked up and her hand found its way to where she needed it the most. That she was in the middle of the public washroom at CSI headquarters didn't matter in the least. The only thing that mattered was that she was beyond horny for Gil, and she couldn't wait any longer.  
  
Lost in sheer bliss, she imagined Gil with her. She imagined that it was indeed Grissom inside her, pushing her closer and closer to oblivion. She could almost hear him calling her name.  
  
"Catherine?"  
  
"Oh, God, Gil," she moaned, arching her back.  
  
"Catherine? Are you alright? Catherine?"   
  
She tried to tell him that she was fine, that she was so close, but all she could manage was "Nnnn, Gil ..."  
  
"I'm coming, Cath," he said.  
  
Catherine gasped, bucking her hips as she neared the edge, frantically pushing her other hand between her legs. "Gil ..." she whimpered.  
  
She heard a click. She felt a draft. She stopped moving, suddenly aware of someone's presence. She slowly opened her eyes, and saw Gil standing, open mouthed, in front of her.  
  
"Oh, fuck," she said.  
  
She couldn't move. She was frozen in place, one hand on Grissom Jr., the other against the wall. She watched as Gil's tongue snaked out and licked his lower lip. Say something, she begged. Anything.  
  
"So ..." he ventured, unable to tear his eyes away from hers. "Is that ..."   
  
"Grissom Jr." she sighed.   
  
"Ah. I see."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
He stood silently for a moment, and Catherine allowed her eyes to break from his, taking him in as he stood in front of her. That was when she found the very evident bulge in his black pants. Her heart skipped a beat.   
  
"Hey, Gil?"  
  
"Hmm?"   
  
Catherine ran a finger down the inside of his thigh, causing him to shudder and gasp. "Do you want to show me the real Grissom Jr.?"  
  
He exhaled sharply as her hand cupped him through his trousers. "I thought you'd never ask."  
  
Catherine grinned and pulled him toward her, her hand contracting around his hardness. His lips touched her neck ever so softly, and he inhaled her scent. She moved her hand and pushed herself against him, his arousal brushing against her in the most incredible way. He pulled back and gazed down at her, lust and desire spilling from his lips as he bent to kiss her.  
  
Her hands immediately tangled in his hair, her tongue pushing desperately past their lips to taste his own. He guided her back to the cubicle wall and thrust against her, his need fuelling his actions as he touched her roughly through her skirt.  
  
Catherine's legs wrapped tight around his waist, and he fumbled desperately with his fly. "God, Catherine," he grunted as she slowly traced the outline of his ear with her tongue.  
  
"Hurry," she whispered desperately. "I need you so bad ..."  
  
Gil growled with frustration and wrenched his pants apart, his hips pushing primally against her core. He groaned as his heated flesh made contact with her warmth through her damp panties, and she pulled his head down to hers to kiss him ravenously.  
  
"Now," she moaned. "Please ..."  
  
He pushed her panties aside, and thrust deep inside her. Catherine cried out and threw her head back, succumbing to intense pleasure as she came, violently. Gil nestled his face in her neck, breathing in her scent, as he began to pump rhythmically into her. Her muscles contracted around him as she tightened her grip on his hips, her pelvis thrusting hard in time with his.   
  
"Oh, Catherine ... you are ..." He struggled to form a coherent thought as her lips found his neck. "I ... you just ..."  
  
"Hmm?" she murmured, and Gil groaned as she squeezed him tightly from within.  
  
"So ... good ..." he managed.   
  
His hands found hers, and he gripped them with an almost fierce intensity, fingers entwining and interlacing as he burried himself as deep as possible within her warmth. She groaned against his lips, her back arching as he sped up. She felt him withdraw, and opened her heavy-lidded eyes, meeting his darkened gaze.  
  
"Gil ..."  
  
He held her gaze as his rhythm faltered, and he thrust once more, deep within her, her name cascading from his lips as she felt him tense and explode. She fell over the edge once again with a startled gasp, her fingers tightening against his shoulders as wave after wave of burning desire coursed through her.   
  
Her body spasmed pleasantly as he shifted and withdrew, easing her down from his waist. She kept her hands around his neck and sighed blissfully as he kissed her forehead gently.  
  
"Wow," she breathed.  
  
Gil chuckled and bent to pick Grissom Jr. up from the floor. He turned it over in his hands, a wry smile forming on his face as he turned back to Catherine. "Do you still think you need this?"  
  
Catherine laughed and ran her hand across Gil's cheek. "After experiencing the real Grissom Jr., I don't think I'll ever be able to go back."   
  
END 


	8. H How Many Stars?

Drabble: How Many Stars? [Alphabet Challenge - H]  
  
Author: Emily  
  
Rating: G  
  
Category: CG sap  
  
Catherine stands behind the screen door, watching as Gil lifts their three-year-old daughter onto his shoulders. She smiles when Emma squeals as her daddy spins her around before they collapse on the grass. There's a moment of silence, filled with the soft hum of the distant city and the chirping song of the crickets.   
  
"Daddy, how many stars are there?"   
  
"Hmm," says Gil, leaning up on his elbows to look down at his little blonde-haired angel. "How many do you think there are?"  
  
Emma thinks for a moment, her face wrinkling into a thoughtful frown. After a short time, she states, "Twenty-seven."  
  
Gil nods and smiles wisely. "You think that's all?"  
  
"Well, that's as high as I can count," Emma replies, her face a picture of seriousness.  
  
Catherine can't wipe the contented grin from her face as Gil scoops their daughter into his arms. She couldn't care less if there were twenty-six, or ten trillion stars out there. She has all the stars she needs right here. Her family.  
  
END 


End file.
